


Together We'll Weather The Storm

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, If I acknowledge the cheesiness of the title does that make it less cheesy?, Lucy isn't the only one who gets scared, Pre-Relationship, Self-Indulgent, thunder storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 04:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15040931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: A sleepless night gives Lucy some new insight into the man who's been holding her together for the past few months, and she gets to return the favor.





	Together We'll Weather The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who asked me: "A Garcy prompt? Maybe anything with Flynn afraid of something? Like he’s afraid of something and Lucy has to help him get through his panic? (I see so many the other way around with Lucy’s Claustrophobia and I just need some with Lucy Helping Flynn) angst to eventual fluff maybe? Thanks!! :)" 
> 
> First of all, I was really excited to get this prompt. My brain immediately went into overdrive, trying to figure out what Flynn could possibly be afraid of. A few things I considered, before I eventually settled on storms: Bees, (because of Gabriel,) fireworks, needles, and the dark. 
> 
> Second of all, I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing but my ideas.

She tries to sleep, makes every effort to close her eyes and lie as still as possible, hoping to drift off, but it’s pointless. Every time she can feel the first edges of sleep starting to creep into her mind, a crash of thunder jolts her awake again.

It must be close, she muses. The lightning and thunder are almost on top of each other.

Good thing they're in an underground bunker.

Finally, she gives in, throwing the blanket off of her and rolling off the couch. If she's going to be awake anyway, she might as well see if Flynn's up. He usually is, whenever she goes to look for him. Sometimes, she worries that he doesn't sleep enough, but it never seems to affect him in the field.

She comes to his room, half-debates knocking, just in case he's changing, and decides to go on in. On the off-chance he is asleep, she doesn't want to wake him. Decision firmly made, she steps into the room, and stops short.

Empty.

The bed is made, the empty bottle of vodka still sits on his desk, and a book is open on his nightstand, but there's no sign of the man himself.

For one tiny, irrational second, she's terrified that he's gone, that he broke out of the bunker and left them all behind. All she can think is, "Not again."

Then, reason catches up with her. If he'd broken out, alarms would be blaring. Besides, he wouldn't get far in his fight against Rittenhouse without a time machine, and she definitely would have noticed him walking past her to get the Lifeboat.

(She trusts him, of course, but she can't bring herself to list that as a reason. After all, she had trusted Wyatt, right up until she had realized that he had broken out. Maybe it's herself she doesn't trust.)

Forcing a shaky laugh, she shakes her head. For all she knows, he just went to the restroom, and she's freaking out over nothing.

She considers lingering, waiting for him to come back, but her stomach protests the idea. Food, then. She'll go to the kitchen, put together a meal, (probably warm up leftovers, if she's honest,) and come back after.

With that thought firmly in mind, she steps out of his room, and makes her way down the hallway. She makes it exactly three steps before the bathroom door opens, and a voice stops her.

"Lucy?" He sounds dead on his feet, and when she turns back to him, he looks it. Dark circles underneath his eyes, hair sticking up in all directions, (very, very briefly, she considers running her hand through it, smoothing the errant locks, but it would be too much, he'd look at her with wide, tender eyes, and she'd do something very stupid,) and shoulders sagging, as if the very effort of standing is too much. "Is everything alright?"

Instinctively, she knows that she can tell him no, that she wanted to talk, and he'll stay up until all hours of the night, talking about anything and nothing. She also knows that tonight, he shouldn't.

"It's fine." She smiles reassuringly. "I was just checking on you." The look in his eyes is too much, far too soft and pained, and she clears her throat. "I thought I heard something."

Technically true; she heard thunder, after all.

He nods, slowly, and she's about to walk away when another clap of thunder hits. It sounds like it's almost on top of them, and she looks at him, a quip about needing earplugs dying on her tongue. He's... Frozen, for lack of a better word. His eyes are squeezed shut, tension radiating from every surface of his body, and he doesn't seem to be breathing.

"Are you..." She tries to keep her voice soft and neutral, but a hint of disbelief creeps in. Garcia Flynn, scared? "Okay?"

He nods again, sharply this time, and opens his eyes. The smile he gives her is painfully forced, and she can't even bring herself to match it. "Flynn..."

"It's fine, really, I'm just-" Another clap of thunder, and he flinches, eyes falling shut once more.

He doesn't try to finish the reassurance; it's painfully obvious that whatever he was going to say would have been a lie, anyway. Instead, he stands, eyes closed, as if willing her to go away. It's clear that he doesn't want her to see him like this, and a part of her is tempted to walk away, to give him the space he so obviously wants, but something stops her.

After everything he's done for her, how can she leave him alone to deal with this?

Instead, she steps forward, acting mostly on instinct. Wraps her arms around his waist. He stiffens, but when she doesn't let go, he exhales, returning the embrace. One hand settles on the small of her back, the other rests between her shoulder blades, and he traces circles on her back with his thumbs.

At the next clap of thunder, he pulls her closer to him, briefly bowing his head over hers. His breath is warm against her, and she leans into him even more.

It occurs to her that anyone could see them, and while she can't bring herself to care, the last thing she wants is for Wyatt and Flynn to go at it again, especially when the latter seems to be on the verge of having a panic attack. She pulls away, but takes his hand.

"Follow me."

He does, of course. He always does.

His room has huge windows, and while the thunder seems to be bothering him more than the lightning, she doesn't want to take him back in there. The living room and kitchen are public areas, with nowhere to hide if someone wandered in. That leaves just one option.

She leads him across the hallway, to the mostly unused storage closet. He pauses in the doorway, giving her a questioning glance, but before he can find his words, there's another boom of thunder. His grip tightens on her hand, almost painfully for a moment, and he nods, following her into the small room.

Once, this would have been terrible for her claustrophobia, but now? She's been shoved into a hidden trunk with another person. This may be small, but at least she has room to move.

There isn't much in the way of furniture, so she settles on the floor, tugging him after her. She rests her head on his chest, over his heart, and waits. Slowly, uncertainly, he brings his arms around her, and she snuggles closer.

The thunder is muffled in here, she realizes, but it does little to help the way he winces, the way he holds onto her so tightly, she half expects to melt into him.

"When I was in college, I wanted to drop out of school," she murmurs, both to give him something else to focus on, and because she wants him to understand. Belatedly, she realizes that he may already know this story from the journal, but if he does, he doesn't say it. Instead, he clears his throat, and manages a reply.

"And what were you planning to do?"

She smiles against him. "Join a band."

He chuckles, and for the first time, he seems to truly relax. "You like to sing?"

Unpleasant memories flicker through her mind, of Hollywood, and Hedy Lamar, and looking Wyatt dead in the eyes, singing, leaping without a doubt in her mind that he would catch her.

"Sometimes," she responds, quieter than she means to.

Of course, he notices her change in tone, and nudges her playfully. "So. Dropping out of school to join a band. Clearly, that didn't quite go as planned."

In spite of herself, she smiles. "Nope. I was on my way to tell my mother, didn't notice the oil slick on the road..."

As if on cue, the thunder booms once more, and it's hard to say which makes him flinch. Possibly both. She rests a hand on his chest, silently reminding him that she's there, that they're both okay.

"I went into the river. I was... Trapped in the car. Couldn't get out, couldn't-" Against her will, some of the traces of panic that always come with the memory start to slip in, and she holds him a little tighter. "I thought I was going to die."

"But you didn't."

Whether he's reminding her or himself, it isn't clear.

"No. Someone saved me. I never saw who it was, but I figured... If this was my second chance, I probably shouldn't waste it."

She considers for a moment what her life might have been like, if she had finished that drive. Would she be a world-famous singer now, or would she have given up that dream long ago? Would her mother have pushed her to stick with her studies, to continue the family legacy? Would she have listened?

"But ever since then," she finishes softly, finally reaching her point, "I've been absolutely terrified of being trapped in small spaces."

He makes a soft noise of understanding, understanding of what she's saying: She won't judge him for his fears.

Outside, the storm crashes on, but he keeps his focus on her, barely flinching at the next clap of thunder.

"It was storming the night my family was murdered." She wasn't expecting him to share in return, but she certainly isn't going to make him stop. Instead, she tilts her head up to look at him. He's staring straight ahead, eyes suspiciously wet. "And at first, when I heard the shots, I thought... I thought it was just thunder." He chuckles bitterly. "When I went to check... Well. It wasn't."

She'd do anything to take away the pain in his eyes. In that moment, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would tear time and space apart to give him back his family, even if it meant he would leave her in the end. But all she can do is hold onto him, offering him silent reassurance that he isn't alone.

"Now, whenever there's a storm, I..." He shakes his head, trailing off, but she can imagine what he's saying. Being forced to relive something like that must be terrible, especially alone.

With that thought in mind, she makes a decision. "Next time, come get me." 

He hesitates, finally meeting her eyes, and the uncertainty there breaks her heart. He doesn't want to bother her, to inconvenience her, to be anything but a rock for her to lean on. Doesn't he understand that she wants to be the same for him?

No, maybe he doesn't.

She sits up, cups his cheek, and repeats. "Come get me." When he still doesn't agree, she decides to switch tactics. "Unless... This doesn't help?"

The change is instant. He softens, giving her an almost incredulous smile.

(And oh, there's that tenderness she was afraid of earlier. Now, though, it's a comfort, and she feels herself leaning in, just slightly. Catches herself-now definitely isn't the time-but his eyes track the movement, and she knows they'll have to have this conversation soon.

Soon, but not yet.)

"Lucy..." His accent is thicker than usual, either from emotion, exhaustion, or both. "I don't want to... You need sleep, and-"

"You aren't alone," she says firmly, leaving no room for argument. He studies her face for a long moment, searching for any hint of insincerity or obligation, but there's nothing to find. She wants to be there for him.

Finally, shakily, he nods, and she smiles. "Good."

With that, she curls back into his side, and they stay there for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Fun fact: Part of the reason I ended up choosing storms, instead of any of the other possible fears, is because that's what I'm most familiar with. I definitely haven't been through anything as traumatic as poor Flynn, but I do have a terror of storms, and "fear of storms" will probably always be a favorite trope of mine, whether I'm reading or writing it. 
> 
> And now that I'm done rambling about myself... Have a lovely day, my dears, and again, thank you for reading.


End file.
